


Nothing But

by ziparumpazoo



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Gen, Starbuck - Freeform, Vipers, short works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-02
Updated: 2009-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-04 02:38:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziparumpazoo/pseuds/ziparumpazoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's been out here a long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing But

**Author's Note:**

> As part of November's write something every day challenge, I upped the ante to see if I could also write something that wasn't SG-1, and Starbuck fascinates me. Un-beta'd since it's so short, and posted for posterity.

"What do you hear Starbuck?"

The question is always the same. As is her answer.

Nothing but the rain.

She hasn't actually heard the rain in so long. Years, maybe. Lifetimes.

There's nothing to mark the passage of time in space. No seasons. Sunrise and sunset are all relative. Birth. Life. Death. Not necessarily in that order. It's all the same.

Sometimes she wonders why she still bothers. Why she hauls herself out of her rack each morning. Dresses. Climbs into her Viper.

And just goes.

If she closes her eyes, which she does, more often that anybody could possibly know, she can almost pretend.

There's the hiss of the air recycler in her ear that she can make out if she holds her breath. Vital, and yet, so much like the tinny faraway echo of raindrops on the metal roof of her apartment. And the static over the wireless, even when she's supposed to be under radio silence. So like the wind in the trees. The storm before the calm. The sky inhaling moments before all hell breaks loose.

DRADIS is muffled through her helmet. Not crisp and urgent. Dull, like the thud of her heart. It's the ebb, the slow pat pat pat as the water falls from the downspout, hits the eaves and the pavement below.

She pulls the stick, plays with the pitch and rolls, just because she can. Her eyes are still closed but she's not flying blind. She feels her way through empty space like a sleepwalker.

Debris hits her canopy. She opens one eye to check for damage, but her path is clear. There's nobody around. No cracks. No danger. She's flying through a dust cloud in the middle of nowhere and it's the tick tick tick of an early morning shower hitting her window, washing Caprica clean.

She cuts the engines and closes her eyes again. Lets herself drift.

If she just listens, she's home again. Lying in her bed, Zak is warm and vital beside her. His finger lazily traces the curve of her ear. He asks, "What do you hear Kara?"

She listens.

Nothing but the rain.


End file.
